The Deserving
by Where'sWilson
Summary: Rated for Mild Swearing. Torn receives vital information about a new recruit while they are out on their first mission. He isn't happy about what he sees.


First Fic, please Read and Review. :D

* * *

 **The Deserving**

The folder hit the table with a whumph of dusty air, scattering pencils and spent eco shells every which way. Calloused fingertips shook senselessly above it, numb to the mess of papers and photos that spilled out of it while the brain upstairs tried to make proper sense of what he'd just seen.

Torn was not easily shaken. The ex soldier had over a decade of skeletons piled in his closet; not all of which wore skull gems. His military mind drew strategies from his dark time serving under Praxis, and was not prone to emotional or illogical thinking. He'd seen his fair share of blood and injustice, both as a war mongering KG and a member of the Underground. It just wasn't in him to feel like someone had stuck a frozen lead yakkow horn through his gut.

All the same, the photos didn't lie, and as his wide eyes skimmed back over the image of terrified eyes and writhing purple-black agony…. the horn seemed to twist.

Torn didn't speak, but couldn't maintain his stillness. So he did the only thing that made sense to his agitated body; he paced. Circling the beaten table, his logical mind tried to wrap itself around the unthinkable, tried against all rationele to see the reason...rushing thoughts bubbling to the surface without an all-together mentality to keep them at bay. Passing under the dingy beams of crackling ecolescent bulbs barely lighting the place, his eyes landed on a poster of Baron Praxis' entirely too smug face, despite how many dart holes it had in it.

An old memory blazed to the front of his mind so brightly it nearly made him stumble.

* * *

Back as an inexperienced cadet, still serving close to home in the fortress, he remembered a time when the Baron seemed to have the well-being of Haven City on the top of his priority list. There had been general upheaval and confusion following the execution of the former king, and while it had been a shame to see Mar's line end in such an abrupt and bloody way, Torn had followed his military leaders with high hopes for the future of the city. The metalheads just weren't backing down, and they had all been told that the regime change would bring peace to Haven…...told time and time again….

Things had looked promising for a few years. Reinforcements to the shield walls forced eco rationing to every household in the city, but they were all told it would provide better protection while the war raged outside in the wastelands. A new farming facility nearer to the city center provided efficiently grown food safely hidden from potential metal head attacks. Homes and city streets were raised up on stilts to allow water to be siphoned from the ocean outside the shield walls so the city would always have clean water, again relocated closer to the protected center.

There were pillars put up all over the city to broadcast city news and offer an encouraging word to the credit of their fight against the metal scourge, something that could get irritating but still spoke volumes of the Baron's apparent value of his citizens' well-being...

All good things...at first.

They made the disturbing rumors floating around the fortress less believable until people started disappearing.

Initially was covert operations around the city claiming to be weeding out possible dissenters that might still be loyal to the old king, imprisoning them or exiling them to the wastes. More often than not they would be left to cool their heels in jail for a few months or a year and then released under oath to the new Baron….

That's what they were told. The cell blocks were never that full, however, so he had assumed the new regime had stemmed off major crime. It was a hopeful sight….

Torn shuddered.

Rumors of live subject eco-experiments had begun filtering up from laboratory sector of the fortress about eight months after Torn had joined the Guard. He had been stationed on one of the upper levels on simple guard duty and often heard his superiors, particularly Commander Erol, regale the rest of them with tales of the results.

" _The freak's head popped like a cherry!" He pinched his fingers together like one dispatching a stubborn pimple, amber eyes gleaming dangerously as he snickered like acid and honey, party to his own private joke._

" _We shot it with concentrated red and yellow eco, right up the spinal column. It swelled like a balloon and then spltt! Couldn't take the injections. How tragically typical." A few men laughed, but most were grim and silent. Torn had swallowed the last of his military grade lunch porridge and left the dining hall, glad to be rid of Erol's cackling voice and feral eyes._

 _It was a bit gruesome, but no less than the vicious little beasts deserved, he thought._

It never occurred to him, or probably most of the others, that he WASN'T talking about metalheads...

* * *

"How long were you planning on hiding this, Samos?!" He barked on the second pass around the table. Watered down re-rebrewed coffee rippled in chipped mugs as he stormed by, a lightning rod of disbelief and anger that was all aimed directly at the only other figure standing in the Underground War Room.

An incredibly short elf with a shock of white-ish hair spotted in the odd stick or flower stood staring at the photos with far more calm than Torn was managing at the moment. He sighed behind a set of spectacles and snared one of the cups of coffee, taking a laborious sip despite how utterly disgusting the stuff tasted on his tongue. Samos, or The Shadow as he was now referred to by most, could understand that anger, expected it even, but he wasn't cowed under the onslaught. He knew where Torn's concerns really lay, and didn't want to lose any more good men or women either. With this new development, many of their lives could be in far worse danger.

However, the eco sensitive was far too focused on the possibilities that lay ahead of them, especially with this sort of weapon on their side. He was weighing the cost versus the possible rewards…

"I had my suspicions, but nothing was confirmed until Ashlin brought us that file." He set the mug down and drew his odd piercing eyes directly square with Torn's wild stare, daring him to keep fighting him on this. "Which she could've been shot for doing, by the way. But that's beside the point. Aren't you more interested in what this could mean for the Underground?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

"Of course I am!" Torn barked, red dreadlocks flying as he slammed his palms on the table. Another wave of shells and detritus hit the floor. Part of the coffee spilled, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"But you're either crazy or senile if you think bringing him in is gonna be healthy!"

He speared the most chilling picture of the bunch with an accusing finger; a young man in dirty prison uniform strapped to a surgical chair as horrific purple shock waves poured into his body via six incision sites piercing his torso. The dark eco itself was terrifying enough, but the expression of anguish on the figure's face...the trace of tears and throat tearing screams...that's what brought the bile up into his throat. What's more...the guy lived...and wanted to join the Underground.

"He's a liability. A insane one! He was before we knew anything about him. He and his stupid talking rat came here and raised hell trying to join the Underground like its a fucking club and then had the nerve to act like precursor's damned renegades in a movie! I'm not going to waste time babysitting him or training him to fight a real war with the Baron scouring every inch of the city for him!"

"You and I both know that he came here hunting for resources to try and take down Praxis." Samos' reasoning cut through the charged statement like cool water through paper.

"And we both know that his being or not being part of this "Club" will barely stand in the way of that vendetta." A green tinged finger prodded the same picture Torn was touching, imploring the tattooed man to see what he could see, a man wounded who wanted vengeance. Just like the two of them.

"I don't suppose you could blame him after all of that."

Torn honestly couldn't, but refused to take his acceptance past that point just yet. Still...his voice wilted just a bit as he tried one last ditch effort to get the Shadow to back him.

"You're playing with fire, Samos…"

"Fire burns everything, we can use that to our advantage."

"That guy is a walking target. There's no way we can stay off Praxis' radar if he's working with the Underground. Every KG in the city is looking for him."

"He doesn't seem to mind being the center of the Baron's negative attention. Use him as a distraction if you must."

"He's inexperienced, rash, hot-headed...what if he disobeys an order and risks an operation?!"

"He'll be more of a liability if we cannot keep track of his movements. He may jeopardize us all in some bold stunt of raw force without even realizing it."

Torn stopped abruptly and closed his eyes, logic fighting with fear and instinct trying to figure out what the best move was. He was a strategist...This should've been an easy decision, but Samos wasn't about to let it go.

"Torn."

An old hand rested upon his shoulder, reached high due to the owner's height but no less comforting. It always amazed him what the Shadow was capable of with just the right words or a simple gesture of leadership. There was a reason he was so well respected.

The shorter man waited until Torn opened his eyes, a fiery expression on his wrinkled face. It was the same one he'd had the day of the Dead Town Massacre, bloodstained and tempered with hellfire just as the rag tag group of survivors had been. That had been the day Torn defected, went AWOL, told the Baron with his disappearance to kiss his ass because the fists are coming back swinging…

He felt himself swelling with a strange emotion...and then Samos began to speak.

"Of all the people who have been waiting for this revolution, our revolution…The people speak of it in common conversation now. They know we're gaining traction and we see new recruits every day looking to knock Praxis off his pedestal." He moved his hand aside and saw that face, that tear streaked face full of pain.. "Of all of the people who've been hurt by him….all of the injustice he's wrought upon us...Don't you think Jak is just as deserving to be a part of this war? Not on his own side...but ours?"

* * *

Torn watched as half of Dead-Town's crumbling ruins plunged into the murky wasteland swamp just outside the shield-walls. The noise might as well have been a beacon for any Metal-Heads or KG that might've been in the area, but thankfully he didn't hear the creep of talons or the whirr of the door opening behind him. A frown creased his face, already knots of regret were seeping into his gut.

Over the broken stone ridge of a former retention wall, a blonde man in a blue shirt came smirking his jaunty way across the platform where the EX KG stood waiting. On his shoulder was an orange and yellow rat-thing wearing a matching smirk and giving him the biggest thumbs up possible with this small paws. In the his hands, Jak held the ragged tatters of a flag that had once flown proudly over the town hall, back when it was still called Out-town.

They had completed the first task….despite nearly destroying Dead-Town's ruins and causing enough stir to bring the entire city down on their heads.

Torn had to grin mirthlessly to himself, remembering Samos' words. The expression of wild hunger capped in dangerous ambition plastered over Jak's face was entirely too much like his own when he first helped form the Underground.

It was as much a sign from the Precursors as he was probably going to get. Torn folded his arms over his chest and schooled his expression into stern blankness.

"Yeah, I guess you guys are in."

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Hope you liked it!


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